


Shard

by LadyoftheShield



Series: Filling in the Blanks [4]
Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Aging, Alzheimer's Disease, Bittersweet, Book 6: Martin the Warrior, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:57:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6528376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheShield/pseuds/LadyoftheShield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way you said "I love you" over a cup of tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shard

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from laflenkenway on tumblr

“Oh, dear.”

Shattering ceramic preceded his words by a half second.

Tullgrew walked over, kneeling to pick up the broken pieces. “It’s OK, Barkjon. I have this.”

He blinked slowly. The old squirrel’s gaze lingered on her face, crow’s feet clinging to his eyes. “Thank you, Ranguvar,” he said, taking a dirty dishcloth from the counter.

The shards of his memory dug into her hands as she collected the splinters. A stranger’s name again. “I’ll brew another,” he said, mopping up the brown mess on the table.

Collecting the cloth, she watched him as he reached for the cabinet. “Tea’s in the drawer,” she said quietly. The tea on the floor soaked into the cloth, still warm from the stove.

Outside, bare branches scraped against their window courtesy of the winter wind. Barkjon jumped, nearly dropping another teapot. His eyes darted to the door, and she internally groaned. “They’re coming,” he insisted, his aged hand reaching for a kitchen knife.

“No one is coming, Barkjon,” she said, standing. The knife glistened in his hand, fragile shoulders drawn tense. Once, he had towered over her. The dim memory of his strong arms wrapping around her and soothing her after a particularly bad beating flitted across her mind.

“That’s what they want you to think,” he insisted, his eyes fixed on the door. “I hear them, you know. Creeping around at night. Rustling. They’re here for us.”

“I think you scared them off,” she said, stepping forward. His eyes went to her, and the blade turned to face her.

She froze. The candle on the table sputtered, throwing his face into shadow. Unbidden, the memory of those frail hands tearing a door off its hinges sprang in her mind. The blade turned in his hand, until the hilt was extended to her. Beginning once more to breathe, she took it from him and slipped it into a drawer.

“…the tea’s boiling over!” he exclaimed, pushing past her. Tullgrew cleaned up the last of the spilled tea on the floor as Barkjon pour them both a cup of the warm mint tea. Lovingly, he spiraled honey into her cup, and she said nothing. Correcting him served no purpose when he would forget again that honey closed her throat like the doors of his memory.

The full teacup hung in her paws as he chattered. Occasionally, she offered a comment or a reaction, but mostly she listened to his rambling, the words twisting like a labyrinth around him. Between them.

Midsentence, he stopped. “…did I leave the kettle on the fire?”

“No, Barkjon,” she said, tightening her grip on the teacup, “You did not.”

“Oh. I’m getting old, you know. You must forgive an old man his idiosyncrasies.” His eyes sparkled, and her smile ironed itself against her teeth.

“Of course, Barkjon.”

He leaned back against the couch. “Things will be better once my children return. They always did make me feel young again.”

“Your children?” she asked, uncertain.

Barkjon looked at her- or, rather, looked at whoever his mind told him he was speaking to. “We’ve talked about this, Hillgorse,” he said, and her chest twisted. Seasons later, the memory of the old hedgehog never failed to sadden her. “Just because they aren’t mine doesn’t mean they aren’t mine.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, and Barkjon leaned back with a sigh, still holding his half empty tea cup.

“Tullgrew, Keyla, Martin. They’re my children sure as the sun rises and sets.”

“Oh.”

His eyes went to the door. “They said they’d be back before the leaves finished turning.”

“Barkjon-“

“They’ll be back,” he said, his voice filled with faith, and one small seed of doubt. “They still have some time. Martin never breaks his promises.”

The old squirrel’s gaze skimmed right over the winter clothing hanging on the rack, over the gentle snow fall building up on their lawn.

Tears filled her eyes. Standing, she crossed to the sink and dumped the half-cooled tea into it. Covering her eyes with one paw, she took a deep breath to steady herself.

He said a name, and she didn’t care because it wasn’t the right name- three syllables, and said with emphasis on the middle syllable. Not her name, a flower strong and hardy as the Northlands itself, he’d told her once. The tears fell, and with an angry wipe, she could pretend everything was fine again.

She poured herself a new cup, choosing one without honey on the bottom, and she walked out of the kitchen.

As soon as his eyes went to her face, his eyes sharpened. With a click, he set his tea on the table as she came to meet him. “What’s this now, Tullgrew?” he asked, and a thin paw went to her cheek, wiping the last trace of tears from her cheeks.

His gentle touch and the ease with which her name flowed from his tongue summoned the tears again For once, Barkjon’s eyes were clear, and he knew her name. One moment of clarity and she was going to waste it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, scrubbing at her eyes- but he was there, pulling her into a hug. She almost laughed. “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly, and she couldn’t quite believe him, but for his sake, she did not argue


End file.
